


Firewhiskey

by EmeraldEyedDreamer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Hogsmeade, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldEyedDreamer/pseuds/EmeraldEyedDreamer
Summary: Prompt #16: Both Draco and Hermione are single and spending Christmas Eve in a pub,and some long-buried feelings come out.





	Firewhiskey

Hermione Granger was sad. While normally the logical and most level-headed member of the Golden Trio didn’t care to wallow in her feelings, tonight was an exception. It was Christmas Eve and Hermione had nowhere to go. 

 

The Burrow just simply wasn’t an option this year. Not with Ronald and his new girlfriend parading around their relationship. While Hermione was sure Parvati and Ron truly cared for each other, perhaps it was even love, but she had little doubt that the level of public displays of affection they graced each other and everyone around them with was because of her. Ron still didn’t forgive her for breaking up with him on Christmas Eve, on the eve of what should have been the happiest day of their lives for they were to be married Christmas Day.

 

_“I can’t say I really blame him.”_

 

It had been a year but he still brought it up every chance he got, much to the chagrin of Hermione, Harry, and many of the other Weasleys, some of whom fully supported her decision (albeit not the timing). Hermione was grateful for the support of Ginny, George, and Molly but she still felt shame every time she saw Ron. 

 

Presently, Hermione stared down into the untouched shot of firewhiskey that sat on the table in front of her. It would be first drink of the night and she wasn’t sure she was ready to take the plunge into what would be surely an emotional, drunken spiral of self-pity. 

 

The Hogs Head was unnaturally warm, probably some charm work courtesy of Aberforth to keep away the unforgiving chill of the blizzard that raged across Hogsmeade. Hermione was grateful for the warmth though it was unlikely that it could compare to the comfort of the Burrow. 

 

_“Well, I’ve made my bed and I’ll just have to lie in it.”_

 

With a nod and a self-assuring sigh, Hermione reached forward and downed the shot quickly. She shuddered as the cinnamon-soaked warmth flooded her body. Aberforth nodded as she raised the empty glass in the air, ready for her second shot of the night. As he levitated the new shot to her table, a surge of frigid air and snow announced a new arrival to the dark and dank pub. Hermione’s hair whipped around her face and she looked up from her new shot to see the newcomer. 

 

Blond hair.

 

Expensive dress robes.

 

Silvery eyes staring directly into her own.

 

That trademark smirk that simultaneously annoyed her and made her stomach flip-flop with nerves.

 

 _“Oh no.”_ Hermione immediately downed the new shot, needing the liquid courage to face Malfoy.

 

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Granger. I thought I might find you here. It looks like we’ll be spending another Christmas Eve together after all.” Draco Malfoy’s smirk pierced her as a bright blush stained her cheeks. The memory of skin, pleasure, and too much alcohol flitted though her mind, unbidden by her but welcomed by the firewhiskey that was coursing through her system. 

 

Waving down Aberforth, Malfoy sat on the bench across the table from Hermione and continued to stare at her as he ordered four shots of firewhiskey.

 

In an attempt to distract herself from the dangerously delicious memories that were echoing around her head, Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “Planning on getting pissed tonight, are we Malfoy?”

 

“Two of those are for you, Granger. I seem to remember you are very fond of firewhiskey, or has that changed?”

 

Hermione’s blush deepened and an electric wave pulsed through her body, filling her with the memories of last Christmas Eve, post her dramatic exit from the Burrow. Like tonight, she had found herself at the Hogs Head, head swimming, firewhiskey in front of her and the grey stare of Draco Malfoy piercing through her. The whiskey coursing through wanted her to fire back with a wanton response, but concern for what she might say kept her from retorting. She merely maintained her defiant stare.

 

Malfoy’s smirk deepened and his knowing eyes bore into her, clearly relishing the memories they shared. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” Mercifully, Aberforth appeared with the tray of shot glasses as well as a new bottle of fire whiskey Hermione didn’t remember Malfoy ordering. 

 

Pushing two of the shots toward her, Malfoy tossed back one of his and licked his lips. Hermione gulped. 

 

“I’ve already had two, Malfoy. And I don’t need you to buy me my drinks. I’m quite capable of-.”

 

Malfoy held up his hand. “Oh I’m well aware of what you are capable of, Granger. I have an amazing memory. And since when were we back to calling each other by our surnames? I quite enjoyed the sound of my name on your lips amidst the throes of our-”

 

“Stop.”  The force of Hermione smacking the table upset the shots and some of the liquid sloshed out. Malfoy merely looked amused. 

 

“Did something I say rile you up, _Hermione?”_

 

“I don’t know why you want to keep bringing our past, for lack of a more appropriate word, _relationships._ You were the one who wanted to end it!” Hermione grabbed the shot closest to her and downed it quickly.

 

“Au contraire, smartest witch of our year. _You_ were the one that ended it. I was perfectly content at continuing as we were.” Malfoy took his second shot, a wolfish grin gracing his handsome face. 

 

Hermione stared him down. “Exactly! I was tired of waking up alone every morning. I’m not a toy to be played with until you tire of it and I’m not one to be relegated to a secret kept from the public because of your shame of the blood that runs through my veins. I’m not your secret whore.” 

 

Anger hardened Malfoy’s silvered eyes into a glacial stare, though there was no true malice there, Hermione noticed. Just regret. She recognized it from her own stare in the mirror each morning.

 

“You, Granger, were the one who wanted to keep it a secret because you were afraid of hurting the weasel’s feelings.”

 

“At first. At first I wanted to keep it a secret because we started our _liaison_ mere hours after I had broken off a two-year engagement the day before our wedding. It wasn’t appropriate.”

 

“What’s not appropriate is the way you hid under my desk while I was in the middle of a meeting with the Minister. The way you wrapped your lips around-”

 

“Draco, please!” 

 

Hermione looked around furtively. Aberforth was nowhere to be seen and the other patrons of the pub were immersed in their own conversations and pints. 

 

“Ah. Music to my Slytherin ears. I love it when you beg.”

 

The whiskey finally betrayed her and tears stung her eyes. “Why must you be such an arse?”

 

“You know why.”

 

“No. I don’t. There is no need to be a prat because I ended a clandestine series of trysts that would never amount to anything more than-”

 

“A bloody good shag?” Malfoy supplied nonchalantly. Hermione just took another shot before grabbing the previously untouched bottle of fire whiskey, pouring herself another, and chasing the first down. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand rather unceremoniously but Malfoy still looked at her with a mixture of lust and anger. 

 

‘I just-” Hermione began. Thinking better of it she poured more whiskey into the four empty glasses, pushing two of them toward him. She shivered as the cinnamon liquor spread its warmth through her. Liquid courage. “I just wanted something more.”

 

Malfoy nodded, grabbing one of the glasses and knocking it back. “And there it is.”

 

“There what is?”

 

“The truth.”

 

Scoffing, Hermione rolled her eyes. “You can’t tell me that at one point you didn’t feel it too.”

 

“You’re right, I can’t.”

 

Hermione’s glare foundered. “What?”

 

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t want anything more, Hermione.” 

 

“Then why did you never say anything?”

 

“Contrary to what must be popular belief I’m not very conversational during sex and that seemed to be the only time we ever saw each other.”

 

“Which wasn’t my choice!” The whiskey was making Hermione quite loud and the din of the other pub residents lessened. Realizing she had jumped up in retaliation, Hermione looked back at the other drinkers and saw they were casting furitive glances at the arguing pair. 

 

“It wasn’t my choice either, Hermione.” Draco hadn’t moved and stared up at her. Gone was the air of self-assured smugness. The customary Malfoy ego. Before her sat a man who had meant more to her than she cared to admit and who, it would seem, felt the same about her. The alcohol was seriously getting to her.

 

“I can’t have this conversation right now, Draco. Especially on tonight, of all nights.”

 

“Tonight is the perfect night for this conversation.”

 

“Well not here then.”

 

“Why not? It started here.”

 

“You know what I mean. There are too many people around. I- I have an image to maintain.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy stood up. “Let me guess. Having a lovers’ spat with ex-Death Eater Draco “filthy Slytherin” Malfoy would simply tarnish the good girl image you have perfected over the years, right?”

 

Hermione refused to respond, merely glancing at the bottle of firewhiskey. No, that wasn’t it at all.

 

“Well if only the adoring public knew all that I know about you and things you like to do behind closed doors. I bet even your precious weasel never saw the many sides and angles of you that I did. He would have never let you out of his sight if he had.”

 

Embarrassment intermixed with a sultry satisfaction flushed Hermione’s skin and goosebumps ghosted up her arms.

 

The two stared at each other for a few moments and the other pub patrons eventually returned to their previous entertainment of conversing about Quidditch. 

 

Draco glanced over at Aberforth who had returned to the bar when Hermione had first raised her voice. 

 

Looking back at Hermione he nodded to himself. “Give me a moment, Granger.”

 

“When did we go back to surnames?” Hermione responded tartly. A small smirk flitted across his lips. “A moment, please. And then you can scream my name all you want.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, clucking her tongue, but said nothing.

 

Draco moved to the bar to and spoke to Aberforth in hushed tones. Coins were exchanged and a key was pressed into Draco’s hand. Hermione caught the sounds of words that resembled “the best one” and her stomach clenched.

 

Draco nodded, smirked, and then withdrew several more galleons from his coin purse and tossed them on the bar. Aberforth grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Malfoy.”

 

“And with you.”

 

Draco returned to the table and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey by the bottle’s neck. He extended his other arm to Hermione, who had yet to budge from her spot. “Shall we, Granger?”

 

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked, though she had little doubt. 

 

“To discuss this matter privately.”

 

Tentatively Hermione took the proffered arm, the similarity to the previous Christmas Eve not escaping her. Draco clearly was thinking the same thing, as his knowing smirk once again graced his lips.

 

Hermione looked back at Aberforth and the other pub patrons but nobody paid them any mind. 

 

They walked over to the stairs that led to the rooms on the second floor. 

 

Once they reached the appropriate room, Draco fumbled with the key, the whiskey clearly affecting him as well. 

 

After succeeding in opening the door, Draco gestured to the inside of the room. “Witches first.”

 

Hermione couldn’t hold back the unusually girlish giggle that escaped as she walked into the surprising well-kept room. It was spacious and the massive bed even looked inviting. Aberforth clearly kept the rooms better maintained than he used to.

 

Hermione sat on the bed as Draco locked the door behind him and set the bottle of firewhiskey on the bedside table. He turned to Hermione, smirking at the curious look on her face. “Now, _Hermione_ , we are going to discuss this like mature, intelligent adults.”

 

He licked his lips and a familiar glint shined in his eyes. Within seconds Hermione was on her feet and pounced on him. Oh Gods. Did she really have to pounce? 

 

No matter.

 

Her lips were on his and her arms were wrapped around his neck.

 

Draco broke the kiss momentarily and let out a husky chuckle. “I see we already agree on a few things.”

 

“Shut up, prat.”

 

With that, he slammed her up against the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they remained in that position, snogging for several long, delicious moments, satisfied moans escaping from the both of them every once in a while. 

 

Once again, Draco broke the kiss, setting Hermione back on her feet. He smiled, actually smiled, at her and withdrew a small green bottle from his robes. Handing the bottle to Hermione he began to shed his robes, revealing a smart pair of black slacks and a crisp white oxford.

 

“What is this?” 

 

“Pepper-up potion. It’ll sober us up quick.”

 

Hermione quirked a brow at him, with an ironic glance over at the bottle of firewhiskey he had brought up.

 

“What for?”

 

“So we can have this _discussion_ like two mature, _sober_ , adults. I am nothing if not a gentleman.”

 

Hermione snorted but was truly quite pleased. She unstoppered the bottle and took a swig of the potion before handing it back to Draco who drank some as well. 

 

The potion worked quickly and clarity returned to Hermione’s head with a quickness that only magic could produce. 

 

“Still with me, Hermione?”

 

She took a moment to just watch him. Now, no longer under the encouraging influence of alcohol, they were swiftly approaching a fork in the road between two options: she could stay and see where this night took her or she could leave. Perhaps go to the Burrow or just go cozy up in her bed with a book and Crookshanks. 

 

The rapidity with which she made the decision shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did.

 

“I’m still with you, Draco.”

 

And with that, Draco set the potion down on the table next to the firewhiskey and pressed himself close to her. Her breath caught in a frenzied anticipation and he swiftly captured her lips in a hungry kiss. He backed her toward the bed until the mattress bumped against the back of her knees. 

 

For the next several hours, far into the wee early moments of Christmas day, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy _discussed_ their relationship. And when they weren’t doing that, they were actually discussing the relationship they both wanted but never admitted to the other, or themselves. 

 

And in the morning, for the first, glorious time Hermione didn’t wake up alone. 

 

It would prove to be a very, very Merry Christmas.

 


End file.
